


gilded

by nerdsquad7076



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I told you, Implied Character Death, Insane Wilbur Soot, I’m not sorry, Niki | Nihachu Needs a Hug, Phil Watson Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), This will make you cry and it is absolutely intentional, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Centric, Wilbur has gold eyes, and now he will forever have gold eyes, hes trying okay, i wrote one gold eye Wilbur, not quite dadza but, so phil isnt as bad as canon phil is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdsquad7076/pseuds/nerdsquad7076
Summary: gilded (adj.): overlaid in a thin layer of gold or gold paint, often to hide a cheaper material underneathWilbur was born with golden eyes.
Relationships: Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Phil Watson & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 84





	gilded

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmmm i wrote this while procrastinating on both homework and other fics i have to write  
> Enjoy the angst for it makes me cry  
> -N

Wilbur was born with golden eyes. A bright, warm gold in the light. A cool, dark bronze in the shadow. They seemed to glow when he sang.

And this was how Phil remembered his son: golden eyes and lullabies.

It had been long, long ago, Wilbur’s childhood. The memories were tinged with a warm glow, like afternoon sunlight or fresh honey. Worn around the edges from frequent recollection.

Phil loved to remember those times, simpler, easier times, before his sons grew up and his world fell apart. His heart still ached for his earliest memories of his family, his sons, his life.

The day Techno found pink hair dye hidden away in a closet, the way he decided that dyeing his hair without any previous experience was definitely a good idea. 

The day Wilbur discovered an old guitar in the attic, the way his eyes seemed to glow when he touched it.

The day Techno decided that giving a sword to Tommy would be a good idea, the way Phil’s favorite hat had never been the same since.

The day Tubbo brought home a frog and sent the house into an uproar, the way Tommy’s head had ended up in the toilet, not once, but twice. (That one still made Phil chuckle. He wished he had recorded it.)

The day his three youngest sons left, went out into the world to make their own way, to write their own story, to sing their own song. The day he was left with one, not four, and his heart broke for the three. 

But that was all the past, wasn’t it?

There was no reversing time, no reversing aging, no reversing  _ death. _

And in the end it was death that separated them; not distance, not age, not ideals, or even the movement of time itself.

It was death. 

The cold, hard reality that everything must come to an end. Childhood, friendship, even life. Nothing lasts forever.

And yet…

Phil wished it could. 

He wished there was a way to reverse time, to reverse  _ death.  _ To bring back his family, his  _ son _ , his life. 

But there is no way to reverse the clock, no matter how powerful you are. 

Wilbur had brown eyes, the first day Niki met him. A warm, honey brown, that seemed to glow golden when he was happy and darken to black when he was not. More often than not, they were a warm brown.

And this was how Niki remembered her friend: warm brown eyes and revolutions.

Wilbur always strived for a better life, a better world. And Niki tried to do the same. In her own way. The original L’manberg Revolution was long ago, a distant memory to some and a quiet hope to others.

To Niki, it was a lifetime ago. A lifetime where she was happier, before tyrants, before rebellions, before the black eyes that haunted her nightmares.

She found herself hoping for a world without pain, without death, without the hurt that drove her away from those she loved. She found herself hoping for a world with her friend back.

But there was no way to get him back now. He was dead, gone, and even if they could bring him back, then what?

He was not the same man she loved. He was not the same man who created a whole country on the sliver of hope that it would be better than the ones before it. He was not the same man who sang them all songs to try and lift their spirits.

He was not the same man who’s eyes glowed gold in the sunlight. 

He would be alive, but the friend she so dearly loved was gone forever. 

Her Wilbur was dead.

He died with L’manberg.

And there was no bringing him back.

Wilbur had black eyes the day he died. A cold, hard black that seemed to suck the light out of wherever he looked. They scared Tommy.

And this was how Tommy remembered his brother: black eyes and the smell of gunpowder.

Wilbur had done it. He had done what he said he would: destroyed their home, their life, their family. He ended the life of a nation he worked so hard to create. 

And yet Tommy’s heart ached at the memory of his brother. He remembered Wilbur’s golden eyes of his childhood, his warm brown of early L’manberg, the coal black of Pogtopia’s ravine. 

He wished, so  _ desperately wished _ , for his older brother back.

To grow up in a world with his family, with his home. To look to the future and have a bright, golden hope for the world that lay at their feet.

Wilbur was a source of that hope.

Once.

And now?

Now he was gone. 

Tommy’s hope was  _ gone.  _

The golden eyes of his childhood were gone. The brown eyes of his home were gone. Even the black eyes of his terror were gone.

He wished for his brother back, even the brother that destroyed his home.

But he knew, somewhere deep inside, that he wasn’t coming back. 

He knew death was _ irreversible. _

But that didn’t stop him from wishing.

Phil remembered. 

Niki thought.

Tommy wished.

Phil was walking somewhere, he didn’t know quite where. He just needed to clear his head, be rid of the painful memories that haunted him.

He saw a familiar figure on a bridge nearby.

Ghostbur.

He knew that the ghost of his son had returned recently, but he couldn’t bring himself to face him, for whatever reason. 

But he supposed now was as good a time as ever.

As he approached, the ghost turned to face Phil, a quiet smile on his face.

Phil stopped.

He almost fell apart right then and there.

The ghost had golden eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
